Angel Boy's DVD Rental Shop of Doom
by soulffles
Summary: "Her freckled ass is literally hiding from a potential nobleman who works at a cheap video shop with a thousand bottles of gatorade probably stashed in the floorboards or something." — Or, the one where Marinette accidentally charms the cute celestial being at the front counter with a few pornos and her nonexistent dignity.


**notes:** super duper late valentine's day gift to my dear friend introspectres over on tumblr. short and sweet. hope it's to your liking!

 _you work in a dvd rental shop and you're so so so cute and i finally mustered up the courage to go in and say hi, so i was browsing around without really looking at the dvds and you came up behind me and asked me if i was getting something so i hurriedly grabbed 2 dvds beside me and handed them to you anD OH YM GOD THEY'RE PORNOS_ au - SFW, despite the prompt!

* * *

Marinette was down on her luck, which was strange considering how often or not she actually made the effort to hoard a rabbit's foot in her purse, or the amount of times she'd spent scoping out ladybugs in her garden. She was completely and utterly exposed to the sheer force of misfortune on that fine day; a feat so incredulous that she was dangling on the edge of reason with a broken spirit and a few pornos to boot.

...

Hold up. Backtrack and then backtrack a little bit more until you picture a fresh-faced, wide-eyed Marinette emerging from her apartment complex, goodhearted intentions in tow. In her arms she carries about 12 stray swatches of fabric, fumbling between the polka dot pattern and the pitch black midnight shade that almost sears her soul. She's planning on an impromptu design session to take place in her spare time, which hardly ever happens when you have a full-time job at one of Paris' world renowned cafes. Besides, the last time she decided to get her fashion on at work, it ended with a coffee-splotched sketchbook and too many frazzled customers to count.

 _But that doesn't mean it'll happen again_ , the pigtailed girl thinks to herself.

Staying positive is one of Marinette's fortes, as well as running into doors and tripping over air. She takes pride in the way she can make light of any situation, whether it be receiving the cold shoulder from a well-paying patron because she screwed up their cappuccino order, or narrowly escaping a near death experience between her and the cute boy at the DVD rental store.

Sure, Marinette's a magnet when it comes to unfortunate circumstances, yet she can't help but to channel her inner sunshine when one arises.

Anyways, about the cute boy.

She's never seen him before until today, which is weird because she always returns her DVDs right before work, and Marinette's pretty sure she would remember a face like that.

She enters the store with an elegance that even she finds incredible— she'd seen him through the front window— and slowly but surely makes her way to the back where the romantic comedies are. Her hand is just about to reach for _50 First Dates_ when she takes note of the silence, and suddenly, she feels his crippling gaze and immediately halts to throw out a small wave before sprinting to the bathrooms with unpracticed agility.

Slamming the stall door closed, Marinette clutches her chest and heaves a sigh of distress.

 _"Oh no."_

The deity up there who's in charge of gracing Marinette with an untouchable supply of confidence sure is off duty today. She has cold feet, but for a good reason.

From what Marinette could see through blurred vision, the boy's fairly tall, with sunkissed skin and the most beautiful blonde mane to ever walk this planet.

Well, metaphorically speaking. Hair can't walk.

He was standing behind a raised counter— reigning over his land of half-priced B movies, if you will— and drinking from a bottle of mango gatorade.

Marinette doesn't know if he's still doing those things, hell with her luck he's probably calling the cops at this very moment to say that he's trapped a wild animal in the ladies lavatory and _oh lord please come quick she's frothing at the mouth._

There's nothing holding her back from making an absolute fool out of herself, so she might as well get on with it. Besides, what else can _possibly_ be against her?

Marinette exits from the pastel pink stall, a very nice color she thinks, and tiptoes her way to where she was before. This is totally ridiculous, so out of hand and beyond her range of outrageous. Her freckled ass is literally _hiding_ from a potential nobleman who works at a cheap video shop with a thousand bottles of gatorade probably stashed in the floorboards or something.

When will she learn to _not_ exaggerate and overlook? With the abundance of mindless behavior she produced today, it wouldn't surprise her if this is all but a dream.

However, as soon as she makes contact with a solid abdomen, deft digits gripping her forearm, Marinette realizes with dread that this is not a dream, more like a nightmare because the boy staring down at her is absolutely gorgeous and she's pretty sure she's not breathing anymore.

"Miss, are you alright? I saw you enter the bathroom and not come out for a while. Is there anything I can do?"

Marinette's 135% sure that she's dead. Currently, she resides in heaven or hell, which really doesn't matter to her all that much. As long as she gets to look at longlong eyelashes and kiwi irises all day, she's set for life. Or in her case, death.

But, of course she has to screw the pooch with this one, breaking her commitment to stay tranquil and unaffected by the angel standing before her. Automatically, Marinette flings herself to the nearest shelf and slams down the first two movies that she captures. Angel Boy scrambles to scoop them out of Marinette's sweaty palms— a feat on his side that makes her feel even worse— and rings them up.

Gradually, her tense demeanor lowers and she's back to a close relationship with the patterned carpet, eyes never leaving a suspicious stain under the candy rack. However, a slight gasp causes her to raise her head and lurch and eyebrow.

Marinette has a great exigency to just melt and melt until there is nothing left of her besides a puddle of mush and lost dreams, because in his hands, Angel Boy holds her ticket straight to Hell.

"Here you go. They're due back by Wednesday night." He hands her the bag and smiles.

The horror-stricken girl bucks beneath his friendly gaze, simultaneously juggling two godforsaken pornographies and what's left of her dignity. She starts to turn around, only to hear his tantalizing voice change pitch, a mischievous undertone taking flight.

"Oh, and Miss?"

Marinette tosses him a glance, wincing. His eyes are twinkling under the fluorescent lights and she wants to scream.

 _"Enjoy."_


End file.
